


The Misadventures Of Rosie Watson

by FanWriter



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10069484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanWriter/pseuds/FanWriter
Summary: This story is the horrible result of the thought of Sherlock Holmes being in charge of a child and rewatching the first episode with the line: 'Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days'.





	

Sherlock smiled proudly, looking down at Rosie as she ate breakfast. ''There's a happy smile. Honestly, to think your father was worried to leave you alone with me. Ha.''

That's not to say there hadn't been a few little mishaps: He'd turned his back for 8.7 seconds after her bath because picking out the proper color bath towel requires concentration (''Why would she want pink four days in a row, green for nineteen, and purple for seven - where's the pattern?) during which time she managed to get her fist stuck in the drain. Dressing was a whole other affair (It's taken 15 minutes to choose those pair of pants - does it really matter if they're on backwards?'' Apparently, yes.) She seemed content enough to color at the table while he fixed breakfast - for her, because he might have a case later - and, well, he wouldn't say anything about the markers getting on the table if she didn't comment about the burnt toast, runny eggs and undercooked bacon.

However, those were just details. The facts were that she was bathed, dressed and fed close enough to the schedule John had her on (''What difference does an hour or two really make anyway?'') and that was all her father needed to know.

All in all, Sherlock was quite proud of himself for the relatively successful morning. Hearing his phone ring, he gave one last look to Rosie before going for his phone, finding it after a mad dash around the flat (''Why would I put it under Jonn's chair cushion?'').

''Ah, Greg, have you found yourself in over your head with my morning absence, lost without a lead, desprately digging for that needle in the haysta-'' he paused listening intently. ''Really, and you're sure it's a serial killer? Oh, yes, this is wonderful, the best thing to happen all week. Alright, I'm on my way. Don't touch anything.'' Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf and ran out the door.

Rosie looked around the silent, empty flat in wonder. Climbing off the chair, she ran straight to that funny-looking object that made weird noises, laughing without abandoned at the screeching sounds it made.

Sherlock's teeth grinded down as he heard an awful noise, with one foot out the door. Running back inside, he took his precious violin away from the toddler. ''What have I told you about touching this? It's a no-no. Now come on, we have a crime scene to get to, and if you're a good little girl for me, we might even work up a nice little trip to the morgue.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Greg exhaled loudly. ''Sherlock, you can't have a child on an active crime scene.''

Sherlock looked down at Rosie. ''It's John's child.''

''Doesn't matter. Look, do you really want her to see all the dead bodies and the blood and the gore-''

''This is the age when children are starting to really learn and pick up things, so I think this is the most opportune time to -''

''Sherlock, no.''

Sherlock huffed. Telling a nearby officer to keep an eye on her, he sat her down on the hood of a police cruiser with a stern, ''Don't move,'' and hurried after Greg.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

''Well, that has to have been the fastest you've ever solved a serial case. Good work, mate.''

''Ah, thank you Greg,'' Sherlock ducked after the DI under the police tape. ''I just love it, the adrenaline, the thrill of the chase, the -'' Eyes wide, he looked around. ''Where's Rosie?''

''Over with Schltz,'' he nodded his head in the direction. ''I radioed to him before we left the crime scene to bring her here. I knew John would kill us if we lost her somehow, and there's enough paperwork at Scotland Yard without him adding our dead bodies to it.'' Reaching the park squad car, Greg clapped the rookie on his shoulder. ''Thanks for watching her, kid.''

''No problem, Detective Inspector.'' Retrieving Rosie from the backseat, he transferred her over to Sherlock.

''Rosie,'' he cooed, ''did you have a nice car rid-''

''Loo,'' she said, a smile of her face.

''I think she needs something,'' Greg said, chuckling at Sherlock's sigh and roll of eyes. ''Thanks again.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

''... which is how we know it was the janitor. Finished yet?'' he asked Rosie as he held on to her as she sat on the toilet. He was a little irked she couldn't hold it until she got back to the flat; well, not irked at her per say, but at the women who'd hit him with her purse when he entered the restroom. (''I assure you, madam, that if I was using the facilities I would go to the mens, but it's not me who needs to pee. Since it's this girl that requires a toilet, explain to me why I would take her to the mens room for her to use the unrinal?'')

At Rosie's negative response to his question, he carried on. ''Of course, you would understand this better had you actually seen the crime scene, but I'm fairly certain I painted an accurate enough ... oh, oh that's brilliant. Oh, you clever lady. It was her, it wasn't the janitor, it was her!'' Sherlock turned and ran out of the stall, pulling out his phone and calling the detective inspector. So engroseed was he in catching the real serial killer before she made her escape out of the country, that he didn't hear the tell-tale splash of a certain tiny human falling into the toilet.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

''That was close,'' Greg whooshed, watching as hand cuffs were put on the murderer. ''It's a good idea you dropped Rosie off before coming here - John really would have killed us if his daughter had been involved in a standoff.''

''What?'' Sherlock asked sharply, looking around.

Greg raised his hand and nodded to another officer. ''Hey, I gotta go. I'll see you later.''

''Yes, yes, later,'' Sherlock said distractingly, trying to remember where he'd last seen Rosie. Then it came to him. ''Uh oh.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

''ROSIE, ROSIE!'' he shouted, rounding the corner and dashing through the doors of the womens restroom. Women protested loudly as he looked around wildly and bent to check under stall doors. ''A little girl, have you seen her? She's about yay-high and she's wearing - uh, uh,'' he racked his brain, trying to remember what he'd put her in that morning. ''Clothes, she's wearing clothes, have you seen her?''

After being thrown unceremoniously out the door and on the ground, he rolled over - holding one hand to his ribs where several brick-laden purses had struck and the other hand to his ear where one formidable woman had managed to punch him. As he sat up he pondered the question, that if he were a little girl alone in the city of London, where would he go?

Suddenly, a thought struck him: his Irregulars, his homeless network - one of them might have seen her off wandering about. After sending a chain-message to his Irregulars, he started combing the streets in the nearby area.

Half an hour later, still with no luck, he began hitting the post of a stop sign in frustration, stopping with a growl when his phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he quickly answered. ''Yes, have you found her? Good, good, I'm on my way now. No, don't approach her, if a stranger comes up to her she may run, I'll be there soon. Wait, what? Say that again. How ...''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

''Rosie, ah, I'm so glad I found you.'' Running up to the little girl, he scooped her up in his arms and held her tightly. ''Oh, oh princess, I'm so so sorry for leaving you behind. Rest assured it will not happen again.'' Pulling back, he frowned at the tiny thing between her fingers. ''Yes, a friend of mine told me you'd picked up a bad habit.'' He coughed a bit at the smoke blown in his face. ''Why don't you give that to me,'' he said, plucking the cigarette from her hand, only to have to catch her as she jumped to get it back. ''No, smoking is bad for you. Believe me, I know. No, please, don't,'' he groaned as tears came to her eyes and she started crying, leaning down in his arms to get at the cigarette he'd put out with the toe of his shoe. ''Oh, dear.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Opening and slamming shut the draws of the furniture in 221B he gave a cry of triumph when he found what he was looking for. ''Aha, here we go. Now, we'll just roll up you sleeves like so,'' he pushed the fabric covering her arms up to her elbows and opened the box he'd grabbed from the drawer. ''Hmm, best to use them all, just to be sure.'' With that, he began unwrapping and sticking all the nicotine patches that were in the box on her arms. ''This is definitely more than a three-patch problem,'' he told himself.

Finishing with that task, he picked her up and started toward the bathroom. ''Now, let's get another bath to get the smoke and ... toilet smell off of you before your dad gets home - and remember, the adventure you had today is our little secret, just between us. Most espcially, the part where you learned how to smoke. No telling. Shhhh.''

 

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

John thanked the waitress who'd led him and Rosie to an outside table, and sat her down in the chair opposite him. ''Ahh. Isn't it wonderful just get out for a bit and enjoy the day sweetheart? Rosie?'' He grinned, seeing his daughter make a grabbing motion to a couple at the next table. ''Lovely day,'' he said to them, and made small talk until their check came. Exchanging goodbyes, he looked back to his daughter. ''So, what do you want to eat. You know, I know it's not really on the menu, but I may be able to talk our way into getting some grilled chesse sandwiches.'' He blinked, frowning when Rosie got down from her chair. ''Love, where are you going?''

Rosie quickly climbed the chair of the recently vacated table where the couple had been, and reached across to the ashtray.

John looked on in horror as his sweet, innocent, little girl expertly took a drag from the stubbed-out cigarette.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

John took deep, raging breaths, trying to calm down after a hour-long, one-sided scream session at his best friend - while also attempting to surpress the urge his hands were having to grab onto said friend and not, let, go.

''Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?'' he panted.

Sherlock, in his famous pose of his fingers steepled under his chin and a far away look to his eyes, swallowed guiltily. He looked accusingly at Rosie who, once again, was coloring in the kitchen, seemingly undisturbed by all the yelling. ''What part of ''this adventure is our little secret'' and ''don't tell your dad'' didn't you understand?''


End file.
